The Khajiit: Gzalzi Vaberzarita Maaszi
by The Talbot
Summary: What is it like to be a Khajiit in Skyrim, where the Nords are as as cold as the weather?
1. Prologue

Hi, thank you for clicking! This is the first edition in a long line of Skyrim FFs I plan on writing. I'm basing all of these tales off of my own TES: V game files, and I'm trying to stick as closely to the lore as I can.  
If you're a nerd like me, I hope you find yourself enjoying the story, as you won't be seeing any sexy Orcs named Jenna, or anything of the sort.

This particular scene was written a few months ago, so I apologise for any mistakes. Please drop me a review if you have the time, I would love to hear some feedback regarding the text, characters, and though it's some time into the future, which race you might be interested in reading about next. Thank you in advanced.

The Elder Scrolls © Bethesda  
Characters © The Talbot

* * *

 _"_ _Y_ _our_ _father and I came over_ by caravan. Your father's mother, Fazala, was the leader, and my father, Dro'shanhad, was an old friend of hers who needed work. Dar'khari and I met only when we were leaving our homeland."

There was a distinct hint of nostalgia in her voice, and M'aizan could swear he saw the faintest of smiles grace her dark lips. Of course, as an ignorant child, he knew not that his next question would take it away.

"Why aren't they around anymore?"

For a few heartbeats, there was only silence.

"Your grandparents were… _ri'sallidad_ …" his mother murmured, her hazy, silver gaze glued to the plate she was cleaning. After a moment of silent scrubbing, however, the golden Khajiit's ears perked, and she chanced a glance back at her son, who was staring at her with his head cocked curiously. "… _Martyrs_ , my son. They died fighting against the injustices of Skyrim… and protecting me and your _ahnurr_."

M'aizan blinked, wiggling in his seat with excitement. Of course, the young Khajiit was disappointed that he would never meet either of his grandparents, but they were heroes! Skyrim may not see them as such, but it was a comforting idea for the boy, even if it would be unwise to ever voice his opinion about them to most people outside his family.

Propping his restless self onto his knees, bubbling to ask more questions, his sister suddenly made her way down the staircase, gripping a doll tightly in her hand. M'aizan gestured with a wave for her to sit beside him, and the dusky Khajiit blinked at him groggily before obliging.

"How was your nap?" their mother inquired softly, forcing a change in mood as she turned and smiled at her children, picking a bit of old meat off the plate and flicking it into the fireplace.

"Fine," Shivani replied with a yawn, rubbing her glossy, green eyes. "What were you and M'aizan talking about? He looks ready to run all the way to Elsweyr."

Elsweyr, M'aizan knew, was far, far away.

"Dro'shanhad and Fazala!" he blurted out before Zahirra could answer, wincing as his mother ordered him to lower his voice and sit properly. The speckled Khajiit then started walking over to the dinner table with a platter of venison in hand. M'aizan and Shivani got up quickly to help carry over the vegetables, momentarily ceasing their conversation.

"Mother says they were _ree-sally-did_ ," the boy finally tried to explain while setting down a plate of potatoes and carrots.

" _Ri'sallidad_ ," his mother corrected, amused. "I need to teach you two your mother tongue one day. You sound like a Man-cub."

Dismissing her last comment and trying to conceal his embarrassment, M'aizan continued, returning to the counter to carry over the garlic bread. "It means 'martyrs'," he explained. It was at that point, however, that the brown Khajiit realised he really didn't know what _that_ meant, either. He bit down on his lower lip, hoping that Shivani wouldn't ask him. The cub was bitter about the understanding silence that followed however, as that meant that she knew and he did not. Now he couldn't ask what it meant, either, without looking stupid.

Shivani's brows knitted together promptly as she set down a plate in front of their mother. "That's sad," she muttered, confused. " _That's_ why you're excited?"


	2. Chapter 1

With the food and utensils set at the dinner table, the three Khajiit sat down to enjoy their meal.

Young M'azian had only taken a few bites into his slice of venison before peeking back up at his mother, admiring the grace in which she consumed her meal. She opposed all of the infamous Khajiit stereotypes that the Nords had labeled their race with. She worked honestly, and raised her cubs with as much love as any Nord mother could. He wanted to know more about her – more about the history behind the blood in his veins.

"Can you tell me more?" he asked once he was no longer chewing, causing the older Khajiit to avert her gaze from her meal, surprised by the abruptness of his request. They had been eating in silence since M'aizan got lost in his own imagination, and Shivani had accepted she wouldn't be getting an answer out of him.

"About…?"

Zahirra surely knew what he was asking for, yet she seemed wary to continue. Young M'aizan was desperate to know more, however. His lust for tales of adventure yearned to be satisfied. Apparently the look in his round eyes translated his needs well enough, for he didn't need to usher a reply for her to continue.

Even Shivani had grown a little curious. She pretended to stay enveloped in her meal, picking at her goat cheese wedge with disinterest. M'aizan noticed the way her ears were perked. It wasn't often that their mother spoke of her past. The two barely got answers out of her about their father and the gaps of time in which he was gone. In the times that he returned, it was even harder to try and force explanations out of him, so they learned to just avoid the subject all together.

"Well," their mother started, patting her muzzle with a cloth, "there were two more Khajiit traveling with our caravan. J'riskirr was an orphan mercenary that my father had taken in. He was only a few years older than Dar'Khari and I at the time. He had a bad attitude, but he was very handsome."

M'aizan scrunched his nose at this and Zahirra smiled at his innocence.

"There was also Fazala's best friend… Tsavashka..."

Something about saying her name caused Zahirra's stare to flicker a bit. For a moment, the cubs' mother was no longer in the room – her eyes spoke of a time long past.

After snapping back to reality, the golden Khajiit blinked and shook her head lightly, as if to jerk herself away from some odd memories. "There were these guards at the gate that were giving the adults trouble… You two are very lucky living here in Solitude; most cities do not welcome Khajiit behind their walls..."

* * *

" _Ihajiito_!" Fazala ordered with a tight hiss, unsheathing her dagger and turning her head towards the stream of soldiers. I watched Tsavashka as she stood there, paralyzed by the rush of Nords. Perhaps she was distracted by the numbers that cascaded towards them, or she couldn't believe Fazala's command. Honestly, neither could I.

Only through her peripheral vision did Fazala seem to notice that her friend was not moving, instead staring at her with round, green eyes, like an elk at the head of a Bosmer's arrow. The dusky Khajiit furrowed her brows, urgency in her tone as she repeated, " _Tohei!"_

Tsavashka shuddered then, the fur along her arms prickling as she grabbed both Ma'khari and I in one movement and shoved us into the back of our horse-drawn cart.

" _Vaba maaszi jer lhajiito_." My father had approached the wagon, grabbing my triceps and kneeling down, staring at me on eye-level with those hardened, yet nurturing brown eyes of his. There was something different about them in that moment, though. It was as if he knew that it would be the last time he would see me, and his heart was already mourning. " _Fusozay var var_ , my cub."

With that, I watched as the bulky, sand-coloured Khajiit got back on his feet, bringing his trusty steel battleaxe into his surly, two-handed grip. He lumbered over to J'Riskirr and Fazala's side, and the three of them exchanged a look.

Everything inside of me wanted to climb out of the cart and follow him into the oncoming battle. I was young, but the life we had lived in the wilds of Skyrim had cleansed me of my childish ignorance. Fazala, J'riskirr, and my father would not be enough to fend off all of the town's guard. I knew that none of them would submit when driven to exhaustion, either.

They would sooner die than get locked up for something they were not guilty of, even if it meant leaving Ma'khari and I as orphans. They trusted Tsavashka- even without cubs, her maternal instincts were stronger than even Fazala's -and they trusted themselves enough to bide her time to get us out of there in one piece.

" _Ahnurr!"_ I cried. My stomach was churning and the soldiers were wasting no time. I knew my father would not back down. There was no way of convincing him or the others to avoid such an unfair fight if it meant giving us time to escape. " _Shurh, Ahnurr!_ " I cupped my hands over my mouth and screamed, echoing what he had always told me in times where our fate looked grim. I prayed to S'rendarr that he heard me.

Then, we were off. Tears dampened Tsavashka's cheeks as she whipped the reigns of the horse, but no noise came from her. Perhaps she thought her silence would keep from giving it away that she was crying, but I had caught it… and she had every right to cry, but she knew she needed to be strong. She was leaving her best friends to die, carrying the burden of two traumatised, orphaned cubs on her back. It could not have been easy… but in that moment, nothing was, as I watched my father fade into nothing more than a golden fleck against the gates of Riften.

Ma'khari and I held each other for the duration of the ride to Windhelm, and I could tell with every roll of the wheel that his despair was melting into anger. He had stopped whimpering for his _fado_ , and his grip on my arms had tightened considerably.

I tried to soothe him, running my hand in circles around his back, but I was just as much of a mess as he was. It got worse the darker it got, too. Weird creatures came out in the night, so suddenly my distraught and my paranoia were fighting over dominance of my little body.

I had once awoken to my father beheading a vampire that had tried to sink its fangs into Ma'khari in the middle of the night. Other times, there were wolves and skeevers, or the occasional bandit… and Khajiit night vision didn't help when our eyes were closed, which they often were after a full day of playing and trying to sell wares.

" _Jaji kor ajit mok tenurr_." Tsavashka was well aware of our concern, having known us since we were kittens. We didn't need to say anything, which was helpful at the least, because at that time, I don't think either Ma'khari or I were even capable of forming coherent sentences. We were blubbering messes, trying our best to be pitiful quietly as to not attract any unwanted attention from other travelers or creatures.

" _Fusozay_ ," she whispered soon after, peering into the growing darkness ahead. " _Ahzirr khi vasa jijri_."

I couldn't imagine what she meant by that until she brought the cart to a stop on the side of the road. She slipped out of the wooden seat and reached towards the back of the cart, where we were huddled up. She opened one of the chests and took out a dagger, tucking it into a sheath against her hip. Then, with a bit of reluctance, she grabbed a few green bottles I had never seen before, shoving them into the pocket of her dress.

All of this she did silently as I held Ma'khari's arm, watching her with reddened, glossy eyes. The entire time I watched her, I could only think of what could be happening back at the city. There was a thickness in my throat I couldn't shake, and I buried my face against Ma'khari's shoulder to avoid any stifling whimper.

Tsavashka, meanwhile, had draped one of the limp hut fabrics over the cart, leaving the horse with a small bucket of feed. Then, she took me by the hand, guiding Ma'khari as an extension, and led us down a small path. Curiously, I could hear something that sounded like panting in the distance, and I squeeze the Khajiit woman's hand, trying to find some comfort in this mess.

We traveled like this for only a few heartbeats before Tsavashka stiffened, and shoved the two of us into some nearby undergrowth.

"Hey!"


	3. Chapter 2

"Hey!"

Ma'khari and I wiggled deep into the undergrowth, our eyes round with fear. The way we had been brought up, we had quickly realised that someone who spoke to us without coin for wares was likely racist or dangerous. This was no greeting, either, but a call for attention, and more likely than anything, a warning.

A Dunmer clad in mismatching pieces of fur and leather armour trudged towards Tsavashka, a mace in hand. To her credit, she was standing tall with her ears flattened, armed only with a dagger. I had never really taken her to be the "brave" type – that had been reserved more for Fazala's quick temper and my father's strength in combat.

While my eyes were glued to the stranger, my acute sense of hearing began to digest the setting. There were wolves… growling and panting, but stationary. I chanced a quick look towards the sound when one howled, and was surprised to see the bars and cages. A camp fire helped illuminate the rusty steel, but I thanked the gods more than anything for Khajiit's ability to see in the dark.

"Varon!" Tsavashka hissed, and I looked at her with the utmost surprise. She knew this Dunmer? This shaggy haired, mace-wielding Mer who… lived in a cave with pet wolves..?

"Aah, Cat!" he sighed, lowering his weapon, a grin creeping onto his ashy features. "Haven't seen your tail around here in a while." After a moment of strained eye contact, he reached to sheathe his weapon, until noticing the dagger at her hip.

"Cat… you don't plan on making a fool of yourself here, do you?" he warned, though he sounded more amused than anything else.

"No," Tsavashka bit back, ears flattening further against her skull. "This one did not come because she was busy with _work_ , Varon. I am not stupid. I need help."  
At this, the Dunmer finally relaxed, putting away his mace and crossing his arms.

"Help?" he echoed, his interest piqued. "We're not exactly _mercs_ , Cat. We're running a dog fight down here, y'know… can't exactly… _go_ places."

If I had not been utterly wrought with fear and exhaustion, I might have found his animated gestures almost entertaining.

I didn't like the way he spoke to her, though, as if she was some uneducated imbecile, but then, I had no idea what she was trying to achieve here, either. I was just stunned that she knew this elf, and that he knew her. What business did Tsavashka have in illegal dog fights? Was the sweetest, kindest, most motherly Khajiit I knew a _gambler_?

"You do not have to go anywhere," she mumbled, averting her green gaze. For a moment, from my hiding spot, I could swear I detected the faintest hint of concern in the Dark Elf's eyes as Tsavashka looked away, crestfallen.  
"Varon, my friends are dead… Riften guard…" she grabbed and squeezed her biceps, as if hugging herself for comfort, "they… did not take kindly to us. My friends are **_dead_**."

Varon, seemingly, did not know what to do with this information. His posture had stiffened and his arms hung awkwardly by his side. He was a bandit, after all, and bandits were known for their unscrupulous ways. But to my surprise, a part of him truly looked like he cared. He must have, with the actions that followed.

"Come along, then. You know, Cyrdus likes you, he might let you take one of our bed rolls tonight," the Dunmer suggested, beckoning towards the cave entrance.

The Mer only took a few steps before realising Tsavashka wasn't following.

"What is it, then? The wolves aren't going to eat you, and I said Cydrus will _probably_ let you stay. Now, considering we're not an Inn, that's damn generous of me."

"Two others survived," the Khajiit confessed, staring the elf straight in the eyes.

Varon returned the look, his nose crinkling slightly. "Well, that presents more of a problem." He crossed his arms, looking around the rest of the campsite. "Well, where are they? If they're off with broken legs somewhere, you know damn well I can't leave my post."

"That won't be necessary," Tsavashka held out her palms, trying to calm him, though he didn't seem particularly flustered. If anything, it was the fact he had to act so damn tough that was driving him mad.

She turned to the bushes Ma'khari and I had nestled beneath and waved a hand at us. Ma'khari gave me a look and crawled out of the bushes. I quickly followed suit.

"Baby cats?" Varon's jaw practically fell off.

It occurred to me in that moment that Ma'khari and I were truly a spectacle in Skyrim. There were not many Khajiiti in Skyrim, and the few that I had seen outside the caravan had all been adults. The only cubs I had seen in the last ten years had been Ma'khari, and myself in puddles.

"Yes, and we need somewhere to sleep tonight, Varon," Tsavashka pressed as we joined her side, immediately clinging to her waist. "You know how dangerous the wilds of Skyrim are at night. I am a merchant; I was not trained to protect. Their parents trusted me with them. We will be out of your hair by tomorrow, Elf."

Varon frowned, his brows falling into heavy lines against the tops of his eyes. "Cydrus won't like this," he cautioned, clearly unsure of what to do. Some sense of morality was clinging to the back of conscience, while the rest of him battled with just how much he cared to be yelled at and quite possibly beaten by his boss.

"I… I brought something, just in case."

The Dunmer perked, immediately knowing what she was referring to. I, meanwhile, was absolutely in the dark. Was it those bottles…?

"Yes, yes, that may work in your favor," Varon agreed, nodding his head vehemently. "Let's give this a try then. Better than just standing out here and tempting the dogs." He snickered, rapping his knuckles against one of the cages as he passed.

Tsavashka tried to offer us both a comforting look, but her deep green eyes were almost drowning in concern. Her fingers curled firmly around our shoulders as she tentatively followed the Elf with the two of us in tow.


End file.
